


Sing Into My Mouth

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Dubious Consent, Full Shift Werewolves, Human Peter, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Steter Week, Vaginal Fisting, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter wakes up after years in a coma. Apparently, werewolves are a thing now, and he's got one sleeping on his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Into My Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I took the title from a song - because coming up with a title on my own is just, nah brah, not gonna happen. This one's from Talking Heads' "This Must Be the Place."
> 
> Notes on dub-con below.

He didn't know which was more shocking - waking up in a hospital with a wolf on his chest or the wolf turning into the very naked young man that was currently propping himself up over him.

"Peter?" the boy breathed, eyes honey gold and wide and commanding his attention.

He looked over at the bedside table and saw flowers. Out of his window, he could see a cold evening. He looked at these things and didn't focus on the insistent weight of a naked young man over him. The boy swiftly got off of him and, again a wolf, bounded out of the room. 

Peter thought he must still be dreaming, despite how clear everything looked now. It was the same sight he'd blearily seen out the window for who knew how long. The same drab, empty hospital room, except now he had flowers and now he had some sort of wolfchild - who's voice was familiar enough that he must have heard it before, in his dream.

He couldn't move his legs, so he checked to see if they were still there, pinching the skin to see if they could still feel. He was sighing in relief as a nurse rushed in, the sleek, red wolf padding in behind her and then into what looked like a bathroom. 

The nurse helped him sit up and asked him question after question, impatient but not frantic. He answered a few, eyes darting between the flowers and the extra, vast counter space and the barely open bathroom door.

"Has my sister been informed?" Peter cut in.

The interrupted nurse floundered. "What?"

"My sister." Peter repeated, succinctly. "Talia Hale. She's my emergency contact and I'd like to hear if she's on her way."

"Do you - " the nurse started. "Don't you remember the fire?"

Peter blinked. His heart stuttered and he had to swallow to keep his voice from doing similar. "The fire?"

Human again and looking distressed, the young man came out of the bathroom holding his shoes. He looked at the nurse, waiting to see what she'd say. His hurt, anxious expression, and seeming inability to stay a wolf, didn't help Peter's mounting discomfort.

He pressed a hand over his eyes, applying light pressure. "I don't know what's happening." 

The nurse told him she was going to find a doctor and hurried out, giving a meaningful look to the wolfchild. Peter looked at him through his fingers and saw his gaped, open mouth and wide eyes and his second hand met his first, giving him somewhere dark to breathe.

Something felt wrong, and he ran his hand over the bumps and dips in his cheek, down the side of his face, his neck. His eyes flashed back to the boy, and then his own traveling hand, scarred so much it looked like a bad movie prop. And the boy had the nerve to look upset.

"How long has it been then?" Peter rasped.

"About six years." the boy told him, his voice humming and low in a way he'd no doubt heard before. 

"And I assume no one's been able to contact my family." 

The boy bit his lip and looked so unreasonably sad. He shook his head. "Maybe your niece, but she's in New York - with your nephew. I'm sure they'll be called."

Peter nodded, looking down at his hands now on his lap, one the same, one burned beyond recognition. "I think I'd like to be left alone."

"Of course." The boy rushed over his own words, stepping towards the door and then hesitating. "The nurse wanted me to keep an eye on you."

"Of course." Peter allowed, sighing, eyes shut, leaning back against his propped up pillows heavily. 

They were silent, and the doctor came soon after. He asked him some basic questions, the boy slipping out softly. Peter was slowly filled in on where he was exactly. 

After the doctor left, saying something about tests and physical therapy and a very slow recovery, Peter was left with his same red haired nurse, who was fussing around his bed.

"Who was that young man?" Peter asked easily, wanting something else to think about.

"Stiles?" she asked. "Oh, he's one of the volunteers. He's been sticking around you for ages. He'll probably show up again soon." She paused, and then added with an understanding smile, "You want me to keep him away? I know he can be obnoxious."

Peter, perplexed, frowned a little. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Thank you." 

She smiled and shrugged. "Let me know when you change your mind."

He promised he would and looked charming doing it, even though all he wanted was to be left alone so he could collapse. 

The nurse, the considerate young thing she was, so obviously attuned to his needs, left him to do just that.

* * *

Peter thought a lot of about Stiles, because Stiles was better, and a lot less concrete, than other things. 

He was certain he hadn't hallucinated him, because his nurse, Jenny, had seen him as well. So, that was a relief. However, his fluid, at best, commitment to a species was troubling. Had the young thing really turned from a wolf to a man to a wolf to a man? In less than five minutes? 

It didn't make sense, and more and more Peter was positive it hadn't happened. It wasn't possible - no matter how lucid he felt. 

Or, at least, that's how he felt until he got a call from Laura.

She was crying but trying hard not to. 

"Uncle Peter, I'm so sorry." she sniffled. "We had to leave. Derek, he - Derek and I couldn't stay in Beacon Hills."

"I understand," Peter said, and he did. He just didn't forgive them.

"It was Kate. Do you remember Kate? Derek brought her home for fall break?" And, vaguely, Peter could recall some pretty, light haired woman that had looked too old and too cruel for Derek. "She was from a hunter family. She thought we were werewolves." Her breath drew and hitched on the word and Peter sat up a little.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know how she got that either - not with the actual Pack in Beacon Hills so close, but - But - " and she couldn't get it out, starting to sob.

"Laura, heartling, shh," he murmured halfheartedly. "What do you mean by werewolves?"

She snuffled and blew her nose. "What do you mean? Didn't they tell you?" 

"Tell me what?" Peter snapped.

"I'm sorry - I just thought - When the hospital called they told me your therapy wolf had found you awake. I just thought they would have explained."

"Laura - are you trying to tell me that _werewolves_ exist?" 

There was a pause. "Yeah," she offered.

The rest of the conversation was just Laura promising to call again, to have Derek call, to come out and visit as soon as they could. Peter felt completely drained by the time he was hanging up.

* * *

He saw Stiles again the day he started physical therapy. He'd done relatively nothing but was exhausted, sitting in his wheelchair by the window. He heard the door open and close and expected it to be a nurse.

"Hey," someone who definitely was not his nurse said. 

Peter strained his neck to look back and then wheeled himself around. The boy was wearing a dopey expression, but maybe that was just his face. It didn't really matter anyway - there was something pretty about his uselessly parted lips and long-lashed eyes and perked nose. He was undoubtedly adolescent, feminine, sporadic moles freckling his blushed cheeks; while still holding the body of a broad-shouldered, lanky young man.

"I was wondering when I might see you again." Peter remarked, taking him in cooly. There was a pause as they regarded each other.

Stiles, flailing into action, reached for his bag, unzipping it. "I brought you stuff. So you don't get bored, I mean." He pulled out a few books and what looked like the top half of a laptop. "Future technology," Stiles said, handing it to him. "It's my old one, so you can have it."

"Oh, joy." Peter intoned, eyeing it clinically. 

Stiles huffed. "I'll show you how to use it - I just thought you might wanna get caught up."

"Ah, yes," Peter said, resting the stuff on his lap. "That actually might have been useful a few days ago. I could have read up on how, apparently ,werewolves aren't so fictional anymore. That might have answered a few questions I had about you."

The boy's eyes widened. "You didn't know? But everyone found out - " and realization dawned on him. "Oh, shit. Dude. You could have said something! I never would have guessed." He thought about it a moment longer. "Oh my God, I can't even imagine. You're out of it for six years and you wake up with a wolf on your lap. I would have _freaked_. Probably screamed. Definitely screamed. I'm really sorry!"

Peter felt a little awed by all of he ground they'd just covered. He didn't say anything, trying to think of an appropriate response. Stiles, clearly discomforted by his silence, shifted his weight. 

"Uhhh... Do you want me to go shift - I mean, go all wolfy?" he asked, making fake claws at him with his fingers. "Or, uhm, do you want me to just _go?_ I know you just started therapy - you're probably tired."

"Sit down." Peter said, and Stiles beamed, dragging a chair by the wall over and plopping down, bag at feet. 

"Do you want me to show you how to use it?" Stiles asked, indicating to the tablet.

"Actually," Peter hummed, "I wanted you to tell me about how this werewolf thing works." 

"Oh!" Stiles perked up. "Well, about six years ago this hunter attacked a human family because she mistakenly thought they were a Pack - and you can't have a Pack of humans. I mean, you can have humans in your Pack, but you need wolves for the Instinct to be right - but anyway. After that happened, the police caught her, and a whole bunch of wolves got together and decided that maybe it was time to stop hiding. Then people would know who were are and we could maybe get protection or whatever. 

"And so now everyone knows. Some Packs are passing as humans, which is cool. But, yeah. Most people are open about their werewolfiness." Stiles came to a full stop, hands having been flying now mostly still on his lap. He wasn't even panting. 

"That's all fine," Peter said. "But tell me about _werewolves_." 

Stiles frowned, brow furrowing. "Just werewolves? You could look it up." he said, gesturing to the device on Peter's lap.

"Sure," Peter allowed,"But who knows what kind of drivel I'll find. I want to hear it from you."

The young man looked convinced, if hesitant, and he looked at Peter for a long moment, amber eyes trailing over his scarred face in a way that made Peter more self conscious than he'd ever admit. 

"What exactly do you want to know?"

* * *

"So, there are three orientations?" Peter clarified a few days later. The history and dynamics of werewolves wasn't a short conversation, apparently, and Stiles seemed well versed on the topic. He was pushing Peter through the little garden outside, air brisk, Peter wrapped in a warm, gray sweater Stiles had brought with him. He'd looked delighted when Peter put it on, and stood close the entire visit. 

"Yeah."

"Alphas run things - leaders of the Pack. Betas make up the majority - and they don't overthrow the Alpha because of Instinct, which is apparently difficult to describe," he teased. 

"It's hard if you don't feel it." Stiles told him again, sounding a little snotty. 

Peter ignored that. "And then there are _Omegas_." he purred, almost mocking the word. He didn't feel Stiles stiffen behind him. "There are fewer of them than Alphas, so you're _lucky_ if your Pack has one. Even the boys can conceive, they're all intersexed - or by human standards, as you said," he corrected himself before Stiles could. He joked, "Honestly, I think I read an erotic novel about that once." 

Stiles said a stilted, "There are fewer Omegas because hunters generally kill them off first. And they do more than have children - they keep Packs together. They're very strong."

"Sorry," Peter hummed, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "Didn't mean to offend. It's just a little odd to me, that's all. Does your Pack have a sweet, little Omega?" 

"I'm an Omega." Stiles snapped, rounding the wheelchair a little roughly around a bend, turning them back towards the inside.

Peter turned his head to look back at him. " _You?_ "

"God, Peter, don't act so surprised." Stiles muttered, sounding more hurt than the man was sure he meant to. 

"I apologize." Peter said immediately, looking forward again. "I spoke out of turn."

Stiles could hear he meant it, but said a curt, "You did."

"I'm an ass."

"You are." 

"I had no idea what I was talking about."

"It's not... _embarrassing_... to be like me. To have my - parts. Or - Whatever. I'm very respected in my Pack." 

"I have absolutely no doubt." Peter's heart stayed steady, so Stiles shrugged it off.

"You didn't grow up with it, I guess. I guess it must sound funny to someone who doesn't know." 

"That's no excuse." Peter said seriously. "I'm truly sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you already said that. Come on, handsome. Let's get you back."

"May I ask another question or have I overstepped my bounds for today?" Peter murmured, inclining his head back to the boy, ignoring the _handsome_ comment, because he certainly didn't want to be mocked like that - even it was fair considering his previous actions. 

"Guess it depends." Stiles said, pushing them indoors. He started off towards the elevators. "You gonna be a dick?" 

"Most likely - but it seems you're prepared, so I'll ask anyway. If you're an Omega, then, are you and your Alpha - "

"We don't have an Alpha." Stiles rushed.

"Oh," Peter paused, and they came to a stop at the elevator. Stiles pushed the button. "But, I thought - "

"I mean, we _do_. But he doesn't come around much - busy with his job and neglecting his parental duties." 

"Your father?" The doors dinged open. 

"My friend's." Stiles rolled Peter on and selected their floor. "So, whatever it is I think you're trying to ask - no. Sorry to crush your dreams, but the reality of it all is probably nothing like that erotic novel you read." For good measure, as the doors shut and they were lifted upwards, Stiles added a teasing, fond, "Pervert."

Peter grinned to himself.

* * *

Stiles did think Peter was handsome, in the way familiar things are. Seeing him almost every day made the sight of him, scars and all, wholly comforting. Sure, he was a lot more of an asshole than he had been when he was, you know, in a coma - but Stiles didn't think he could really complain. After all, he was sort of an asshole himself.

Even better, Peter's scent had improved. He still smelled like ash and the forest - but now there was _warmth_ to it. He had the aural indicators that let Stiles know what his scent was when he was happy or sad or frustrated - and it was all better than the flat, singletone he'd had. 

"You get that sleepy human smell now too." Stiles explained, watching Peter stretch his arms out. 

Peter looked at him like he was nuts. "Excuse me?" 

"Oh, you know. Some humans get this warm, cosy smell when they're sleeping."

"And have you been sniffing me often when I'm asleep?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You wish. Scents linger for while. It's easy to pick stuff like that out. Don't worry - the sleepy human scent is a good one. Only my favorite people get it."

And Peter grinned at him, lazily, from his chair. The sun was setting outside his window, illuminating his face and hair - making his eyes almost too blue to be human. Stiles was reminded of how handsome Peter was. He stood from his seat.

"I'm kinda hungry. You want something from the machine?" 

Peter shook his head, and went back to stretching out his long, strengthening arms. 

Stiles bought more food than he thought he needed and wasn't satisfied until Peter had taken some.

* * *

Peter tried to stand from his wheelchair on his own, and really, really couldn't. Stiles was walking in with grocery bags just in time to see him lose his balance and almost topple to the floor. He was by his side instantly, easing him to the bed, sitting him down and building up a little nest of pillows around him with a displeased look on his face.

"You don't have to do that." Stiles told him, shoving his grocery bags of snacks onto his laps. "I am here for a reason - like moving you around and making sure you don't overexert yourself. You're gonna make me look bad, you dick."

Peter looked through the bags, and said a casual, "I have to keep pushing myself." 

"Uhh, no, you don't. That is absolutely not something you have to do." Stiles said, finally satisfied with the mini pillow fort surrounding the man. He sat down next to him and reached into the bags for a box of something. "That's like the exact opposite of what you should be doing. You're already recovering, like, really fast. No one expects you to be walking around any time soon. It's like you're trying to train for a marathon." He grabbed out a nutter butter. " _Are_ you trying to train for a marathon?"

"Stiles," Peter said seriously, and then took half of the treat when Stiles handed it to him.

The boy shrugged, looking back down at the Little Debbie box. "I'm just worried about your hurting yourself."

Peter, having learned quickly how much werewolves, and especially Stiles - though he'd never admit it - indulged in friendly physical contact, had taken to giving such small gestures freely as well. He cupped under Stiles's chin, his fingers almost brushing his throat in a way that, for a wolf, would have been far too intimate. Stiles was sure Peter knew nothing about that, though, and let him slide because it didn't feel altogether bad. His face was guided up.

"You're so good to me." Peter hummed, and the words sounding teasing, but he looked like he meant them. He let go and Peter's hand fell onto Stiles's, which was resting on his thigh. Stiles felt his face - and neck, and chest, and, fuck it, his entire body - heating. "Besides," he rumbled easily, "You can always take my pain if I hurt myself." 

"I'll stop doing it if it'll make you quit acting like an overexcited toddler." Stiles promised. Peter just smiled, his thumb rubbing over the top of Stiles's hand.

"No, you won't." Peter assured him. Stiles didn't say anything else because he was right. They both were still, except for Peter's hand on his. Stiles really wasn't used to a human - or anyone really besides his Alpha - touching him like this.

Finally, Peter told him, "I'm going to be moving in a week."

Stiles frowned. "Where? To another hospital?"

"To an apartment complex nearby. Some sort of assisted living nightmare. I'm not exactly in love with the notion - but I'd prefer to not make this room my permanent residence." Halting, he added, "Derek and Laura are visiting me in a few weeks. I'd like to have them not see my in the hospital." 

Peter rarely talked about his family - rarely bordering heavily on never. Stiles hardly knew Derek and Laura's names. "Is that - Is that why you're pushing this walking thing?"

Peter pulled his hand back and self consciously touched the burns on his opposite wrist. He kept his face a schooled calm that made Stiles's wolf bay and whine. Peter didn't respond to the question. "I was wondering if you'd want the address. So you can visit." 

Part of Stiles was hurt that he had to be asked. He reached into the box for another nutter butter and didn't share this one. "Of course I do. I'm gonna come hassle you every day. Make sure you're not wasting away. Those poor nurses have no idea what they're in for." 

Pressing his unmarked hand over his heart, he gave Stiles a look of pseudo-gratitude. "I knew I could count on you."

* * *

Stiles and Peter fell into an easy routine. Peter had basically his own place - a team of nurses always nearby but not necessarily in the immediate vicinity. He had physical therapy most days, but Stiles would pick him up from that and take him home. 

The boy had cooked a few times, but Peter had rebelled after the third night of chicken and greens, and stocked his fridge full of only steak and hamburger patties. He'd taken to ordering takeout on his new cellphone while waiting for Stiles to pick him up and then demanding Stiles pick it up or him. Stiles grumbled, but no self-respecting young man Peter had ever met could turn down a night of Thai food, or pizza, or Indian. 

They were eating Chinese that night, Peter sitting in his chair, Stiles across from him on the couch, the food laid out between them on a low coffee table. 

"I dunno." Stiles was saying, piling more food onto his plate. "I've just been really hungry lately. Like, all the time." He shoved some food into his mouth. "'M gonna get fat."

Peter looked at him, his knobby wrists and long, sleek neck, the way his legs looked like they wanted to fold and curl under him, and said, "No, I don't think you will. If anything," he said, taking in the boy's cheeks, looking fuller, all pink and flushed and soft, "A little weight would do you good."

"Gee, thanks." Stiles rolled his eyes, eating more. He considered it, and offhandedly stated, "You know, I only eat like this when I'm going into my - " He cut himself off abruptly. His gaze flashed to Peter a little horrified and then down at his plate of food.

"What?" Peter asked, slowly. 

"It's December, right?" Stiles checked, standing. 

"Yes." Peter said, gaze following him closely. 

"Then that doesn't make sense - I'm not supposed to until March - _Unless_ \- " and he froze again. "I need to go home." He turned quickly to grab his coat. "Sorry, Peter. Thanks for dinner." he rushed, dressing and heading to the door. "I can't come around for a few days - maybe a week. Take care." 

"Stiles, what's going on?" Peter demanded, and his tone and obvious displeasure made the currently hypersensitive wolf at the boy's core want to roll over and, oh no, that was bad. He didn't need to be bonding with _Peter Hale_. He paused hopelessly at the door regardless. 

"I'm just - I'm about to - _Something's_ setting off a pseudo - " and he clammed right up, blushing red all down his neck. "I'll tell you later, maybe. Bye." He opened the door and was gone.

Peter put his food aside, not even really hungry to begin with, fishing out his tablet. After a few searches, he found 'werewolf pseudo heat.' He skimmed the first article.

All in all, it looked a _lot_ like that erotic novel he'd read that one time. 

Stiles had been set off by an Alpha (which could be, as the article wanted to make clear, not only his actual Alpha but any person whom he felt obedient to) or a situation (like another Omega's actual heat). Unless contained, Stile would seek out the - 

Peter's doorbell rang. It rang again, like someone was pushing their finger down, and then there was some frantic knocking. He tossed the tablet aside and wheeled over to open up. Stiles was red-faced outside, close to tears and shaking, leaning heavily against the doorway. Peter ushered him in. 

"I tried to drive home but I collapsed in the parking lot and then I tried to call my dad but my hands are shaking so much - I couldn't dial and I - I kept dropping my phone," his voice hitched, quivering. He bit his lip, looking around the room frantically, at anything but Peter. "And then this other wolf came up to help me," Stiles sat down heavily on Peter's couch, a hand covering his eyes. "And I just got so freaked I ran back to you." He finally peeked up at him.

Peter was a little taken aback. He asked a low, "Do you want me to call your dad for you?" And Stiles whined, but nodded. Peter took the boy's phone from him to call, leaving him hunched over, sweating, close to panting on the couch. There as no answer, and Peter left a curt message - just a _This is Peter Hale, your son's gone into pseudo heat in my living room. If you'd like to pick him up at your earliest convenience, he'd appreciate that._

He rolled back to the trembling boy and was about to task if there was someone else he could call, but stopped at the sight of him.

His eyes were bright yellow when he could bear to keep them open for long enough. His knees knocked together, thighs rubbing, rubbing, rubbing uselessly. His throat was strained back, his entire chest heaving with each panicked breath. He was moaning nonstop, whining high. Peter felt awful, hated seeing him in pain like this, but seemed to like everything else about him just enough to feel himself reacting.

Stiles nearly sobbed when he scented the man's own arousal for him. "Peter," he cried, "Peter, I'm burning up. It never happens this fast - I'm burning up. Something's wrong."

"Shh. You'll be fine." Peter hushed. "Can I call someone else for you?"

The boy keened suddenly, hips bucking in urgency. "There's something wrong," he repeated, whining, tearing at this jeans to get them off. "Oh, God, there's something wrong; I'm gonna burn up." 

"Stiles, it's okay, calm down." Peter reached forward to still the boy's hands and had his own slapped away.

"Just check, please." Stiles begged, shimmying his jeans down to his thighs and then his underwear, which looked completely soaked through. He tilted his hips up frantically, displaying his little, pink cock and cunt to Peter. "Just make sure it's okay, _please_."

Peter tried not to look to much, feeling a bit dizzy with all of it. "You're fine, Stiles."

"I'm not." he sobbed. "It hurts. Please - I - It's burns so m - Just check - something's _wrong_." 

"Stiles," Peter started, "You're," and Stiles, moaning in frustration, reached forward to slip two fingers roughly into his own pussy. His head fell to the side, eyes shut tight, and he wailed openly. Peter caught his wrists, keeping him from finger fucking himself wildly and pulled him out.

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"It already _hurts_ \- _Aches_ \- I can't - I'm gonna - I - " and he rocked his hips a forward a few times. Peter caught one hip with his hand and held it down, Stiles crying out at the firm grip. 

His thighs were wet with slick, his soft, pubic hair dark velvet, his straining cock drooling precome down its length. Peter felt a bit dizzy, only barely registering the young man's pleas for help.

"Oh, Peter - Oh, I - " He was breathless. His eyes were so hazy, yellow with his wolf and teary red as he cried. "I'll do anything. Just touch me."

Peter crowed the boy's name again, eyes finally dragging up to the boy's flushed face.

"Just check." he repeated, insistent, making a clear effort to control his breathing. "Something's wrong," and he pushed his hips up as much as he could while heat-weak and pinned.

With his free hand, Peter thumbed over his pink slit. Stiles let out a shaky breath and nodded, so Peter rain his forefinger across and, crooking the digit a little, pushed in. Stiles was already demanding more, but Peter needed a second to process what he was feeling. The boy was hot silk on the inside, soaking his finger, clenching around it desperately. 

"I want - " Stiles demanded, absently. "I want - " and another finger was added so he had to whine like it was good but so far away from enough. 

All of a sudden, Stiles was pulling away, forcing Peter's hand out. He struggled, clumsily trying to shuck his jeans and briefs, legs getting caught in tangled in a way that made Peter almost cluck his tongue. He shushed the frantic boy, who was close to hysterics again, and helped him undress.

The moment he was free, Stiles splayed his legs wide, pulling Peter's hand, his arm, his entire body towards his pussy.

"Your mouth." Stiles panted. "I want - "

Which was all he had to say. Peter had a hold of his legs and was puling him up by his thighs before he could finish. The boy's back balanced between the couch and Peter's lap, his legs hooked over Peter's strong shoulders, his cunt against Peter's warm, experienced mouth in a matter of moments. 

The high, loud string of sounds Stiles made, his back arching, one hand gripping the cheap fabric of the couch, had Peter rumbling with pleasure as he buried his face in Stiles's slick warmth. Stiles's other hand was threaded through his own hair, pulling a little, and then pressed over his closed eyes, and then gagging his own mouth to quiet himself.

Peter's hands were holding his shaking thighs steady at his ears, feeling them twitch and jerk. One of Stiles's heels dug into his back, the other curling and kicking out a little, banging the back of his chair a few times. 

Hitching up the boy's hips a little, Peter was allowed an even better angle, his tongue fucking deeper, making Stiles cry and trash, thighs tightening around him. He felt the boy's cunt clench and, like that, Stiles was coming hard on his tongue. Peter ate him out through it, working out a quick second orgasm, until Stiles was pulling back. 

Before Peter knew what was really happening, Stiles picked him up out of his chair and plopped him down on the couch, legs in front of him, back propped up against the throw pillows. 

"Stiles, what - " but the young thing was over him, straddled on his lap, kissing his messy face. It was hardly a kiss as it was - Stiles eating his own slick off of Peter's face, licking into his mouth, sloppily cleaning him. 

"So good." he murmured. "You're so good." His hand found Peter's bulge, testing it. He whined, lost and agonized. "Are you gonna knot me? Please - I _need_ \- " 

Peter was struck by this odd request. He hadn't know that was a thing that might be expected of him. "Darling," he choked, regretfully, "I don't have - "

Stiles moaned, anguished, and turned on his lap, ass pressed up high, faced pressed just below the man's crotch.

"Alpha, please," he begged.

And Peter leaned in to kiss him again, softer this time, trying to weight his options. Stiles pushed his hips back and Peter used his thumbs to spread him open, fingers digging into this thighs to hold the boy still. 

" _Alpha_." Stiles groaned. "You have to - I - "

“Shh, shh, shh," Peter hushed, drawing back. "We'll figure this out," and he trailed his fingers over the boy's pussy lips again.

Stiles shoved himself up and used a shaky hand to try and undo the man's pants. Peter stopped him and pushed his chest back down. 

"Sit still," he ordered, "Or I won't help you." Which was a lie, but it got Stiles to stop moving. Peter started to nudge two digits in. "I'm gonna work all my fingers in. How does that sound? Give you my whole fist. You'll tell me if you can't take it." he said, and Stiles whimpered.

"Fuck your come into me first." he pleaded. "Please. Wanna keep you inside of me. Please, Peter. Please, Alpha." and Peter started to push in his third finger, so Stiles panted open mouthed against his leg. He drooled a little on his pants, but Peter figured it was to be expected.

"Darling, look at you. Taking me in so well. Tell me if I hurt you." and he curled his three fingers, scissoring the boy open, fucking in and out to stretch him. He pressed over something that had the boy jolting and cursing.

Peter reached between the boy's legs and viced a fist around his still erect cock. All it took was a few strokes and the boy went off like a rocket, spilling over Peter's hand, dribbling down his shirt. His entire body relaxed and Peter worked his pinkie in. He felt himself sigh in relief, releasing the tension he'd hardly noticed to be pent up, when Stiles started to talk a little.

"I'm not usually like this," Stiles hummed, sounding sleepy, seeming more lucid as he was filled. "My heats aren't even this bad." Peter _hmm_ ed and Stiles sighed. "You're taking this awfully well."

"I'm reeling," Peter explained. "I have no idea what's going on." He asked, "Do you want all of my fingers?"

" _Yeah_." Stiles murmured, spreading his knees even more, hips rocking back. "Is your hand okay? Do you think you can," Peter curled his fingers, twisting his wrist, and Stiles's whole body jerked, his voice catching and holding before he finished. "Can keep it in for a while? I feel better with it in." 

"I think that sounds doable."

And Stiles sighed again. Peter worked in his thumb.

* * *

He kept his fist inside of Stiles until his hand cramped, and then some. Stiles hummed to him, voice soft, lulling. His words were almost lost to at times, them being said to quietly into the man's legs, but Peter got the basic gist. 

"- make a good wolf. Mate me so well - I'd pup for you so quick. Give you a whole _litter_ if you'd just - Oh, just - You're so _strong_ already."

Peter gently eased his hand out, Stiles making a hollow noise at the loss and turning around so he could cuddle against his side, collapsing heavy and warm and half on top of him. Peter looked around for a Kleenex, his hand covered. Stiles just grabbed his wrist and sucked two fingers into his hot mouth, lazily lapping over them and then the rest of his hand. Peter thought it was sort of gross and sort of sweet. The boy at his chest finished, but continued to clutch his hand, keeping it by his cheek as his eyes slipped shut.

"You smell like me." Stiles mumbled, pleased.

"Yes, I'd imagine I do."

"Sorry I came on your shirt."

“No, you're not." Peter told him and Stile sort of shrugged to tell him he was right. Something occurred to the boy and he pushed himself up. 

"You didn't come." he stated, and his hand drew up to his crotch. "Hold on. Let me - " Peter took the boy's hand in his own and held it still.

"Maybe later when you're not so tired."

Stiles made a noise of assent and settled back down. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll hit you back when the heat flares again." 

Peter's eyes widened, almost comically. Helplessly, he tried to speak and ended up making a soft, strangled sound. "Again?" he managed out, "But - _Again?_ " 

"Yeah. 'S why we're resting now. We should order pizza when we wake up. Don't forget to order pizza."

Peter gazed at the young man, half-asleep, and slumped back against the couch again. "Your father is going to kill me."

One last time, Stiles opened his eyes and propped himself up to look at him. "Why would he do that? You're my heatmate." And he sounded so sure, so bewildered by the notion that his father might not like the idea that a significantly older - not to mention scarred and ugly and immobile - man was fucking his young son. Peter had to stare at him. 

Stiles gave him a smile and kissed him easily before pulling back to say, "Unless you want me to go. I just," and he blushed, "I just figured people don't eat pussy like that when they want someone _out_ of their apartment. Not to mention that you fisted me for, like, forty-five minutes so I just kind of thought we were down. Unless we're not?"

"No," Peter allowed, exhaling shakily. "No, we are." Stiles settled back down, snuggling in and falling asleep quickly. Peter trailed his hand down the boy's clothed back to cup his ass, his warm upper thigh, trying to assure himself he had a real person there with him.

He fell asleep too, once certain.

* * *

It only took about a day and a half to get Stiles through it. Peter had a brief, vaguely uncomfortable discussion with the Sheriff, telling him that Stiles was fine and didn't want to be collected. They ordered pizza and Thai takeout and had that guy who delivered Greek food on his bike come by. They moved to the bed, and stayed basically naked, using blankets as clothes when necessary. When Peter explained the situation to the wandering team of nurses, the all seemed more delighted than anything else, and gave them space.

Peter fisted his hand inside Stiles's cunt, putting his mouth to use on either his ass or cock, whatever was more convenient, sometimes slipping a few more fingers of his free hand inside. And Stiles couldn't seem to stop kissing him; to warm him up, or before they slept, or with a hand tight around his dick.

"Wish you'd fuck me." Stiles murmured towards the end of his little heat. He was lapping the head of Peter's cock, mouthing the tip, only taking a little in at a time. 

"Wouldn't be right, would it?" Peter asked tightly. "Can't knot you like you want."

He hummed around his cock and had Peter throwing his head back against the bed, hands tight in the boys hair. Stiles pulled off and grinned at him. "I dunno. You seem pretty thick to me," his stabilizing hand squeezing around said thickness, "I doubt I'd complain." He bowed his head to his task, lips parting. 

Peter's eyes closed, murmuring, "I wish I could."

Stiles choked himself and pulled off. He sputtered, "What?"

"I wish I could knot you," Peter repeated, brushing back the boy's sweatslick hair, pleased with the way he pressed into the touch. "Stuff you full like you need." He quickly added, "I could knot your mouth - get you to shut up for once."

"How romantic." Stiles murmured, jacking the man off halfheartedly. 'You know you'd have to be a wolf." 

"Don't see why I wouldn't want that."

Stiles looked concerned, contemplative, and finished him off with a wet, distracted blow job. Peter drew him up immediately after, kissing him open mouthed, sucking on his tongue. Stiles settled next to him, his hand coming to Peter's scarred cheek, lightly brushing over his marked skin. He looked pleased with what he saw, which Peter thought was insulting. He wasn't supposed to be like this and knew it. He knew the boy had a mean streak, but he'd thought he had enough tact to not mock him about this. 

He pushed the hand away sullenly. "Don't."

Stiles had the nerve to be the one who looked hurt, but he stopped. "Were you serious about that? You wanna be a wolf?"

"I'd be able to walk again." Peter said like it was an answer.

"You'll be able to walk again anyway," Stiles told him, but shut up when Peter leveled a very unimpressed look at him. "You'd have to be in a Pack with me. And my dad. And the rest of us. You might end up spending more heats with me."

Peter waved the warning away. "I was planning to already if you'd let me. Besides, you're not trouble - and it seems like your dad doesn't want to kill me currently, so I'm feeling quite positive about that." Stiles looked like he was still considering it. "Could we even do it?"

"My..." Stiles started, hesitating. "Our Alpha's back in town. He's trying to make amends for being so negligent - he does this every now and then. I could ask, if you're serious."

"I am. Would he say yes?"

Stiles shrugged, a hand coming up to his mouth, biting a nail in concentration. "Probably."

"Do you want me as Pack?" Peter finally asked.

The boy looked over at him, eyes wide. He brought his hand down and wet his lips, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Well, then. What's the trouble? Don't look so upset." 

Stiles touched his ugly cheek again, fingers trailing down his similar neck. "You'll lose your scars. Isn't that like losing your past for a human?"

Taking the boy's soft, long-fingered hand in his own fire-mangled one, Peter pressed his lips to his palm. Gently, against his skin, he said, "Not for me."

He leaned in again to brush lips with the boy. It was so tender, Stiles, like the pup he was, whined an almost too faint sound. They pulled away, and Stiles squeezed the man's hand in his own. "Alright." 

Peter grinned and kissed him again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent due to heat-related issues.
> 
> Whew. That was fun to write. Hope you guys liked it.
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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